Her
by NutMegg
Summary: "You didn't know when you knew you were in love. You never consciously felt a moment in which her every move tugged at your heartstrings." One-Shot, rated for minor references, nothing major. First thing I've written in a while! Go easy on me!


You didn't know when you knew you were in love. You never consciously felt a moment in which her every move tugged at your heartstrings. It was her eyes, the eyes you'd first noticed. No, it wasn't the hair that first caught your eye, it was her eyes. Emerald, with flecks of gold. Two bright suns in the darkness of this world. It was the start of fourth year, and she'd changed over the summer.

Not in the nerd-takes-off-her-glasses-and-becomes-a-goddess type of way, in the sophisticated, grown up way. Her hair, once wild and uncontrollable, was gone, replaced with neatly curled locks that hung well past her shoulders, reaching to the small of her back. The doe eyes were still there, but they held less innocence than before, and called to you. Her body had transformed into one of those on the telly, with a tiny waist, and curves you could spend all day running your hands over. She parted red lips covered in gloss you could almost smell, and called out to her friends. They surrounded her, marveled as much as you at her transformation, and left, taking her with them. You shook yourself back to the preset, and got on the train with your own friends.

You thought a lot more than normal on the train. You arrogantly thought that you were only momentarily stunned with her new found beauty, but that you still didn't like her much. You'd always antagonized her, you and your mates, but you never expected to feel like this toward her. You again shook the thought from your mind, and tried to enjoy the rest of the ride.

Barely an hour into the school term, and you and your friends were at it again. She was yelling, furious, and red faced, her eyes bugging out and her fists clenched, and you stood there, and took it all. You took in every syllable. Drank in every insult. Because when someone like Lily Evans screams your name, you listen.

You antagonize her for the rest of the year, and the one after, and the one after. You watch every time she becomes mad, and you do it more and more on purpose, because she's truly beautiful when she's angry, when there's so much emotion in her body that she just can't hold it in anymore.

You watch in disbelief as her feelings of loathing and hatred change, almost against her will, into love. You watch, you wait, you listen.

And then by the beginning of seventh year, her feelings are adamant.

You watch, the first day of seventh year. You watch as her eyes, those beautiful green eyes that haunted your summer, focus. You watch the smile, beaming, breaking from ear to ear across her face, heart shatteringly gorgeous. You watch her run toward you, and more than anything, you want to hold out your arms and catch her before she falls.

But you don't. Because its not your embrace she's running to.

You stand by silently as she leaps into **his** arms, as her arms twine around **his** neck, as her hands grasp **his** shoulders, as her mouth meets his, their lips moving in a century old dance.

You joke about them getting a room, but Merlin you don't want them to, and they break apart, red faced and grinning, and you get on the train, your smirk never hinting toward the heart that's sobbing in defeat in your empty chest.

You go through hell that year. You want to tell someone the thoughts that bounce around in your head, the plots you make up, the plans to get rid of him, and take her as your own But you can't. Because she's your best friends girlfriend, and you could never put her through that kind of embarrassment. You want her life to be perfect, because she's perfect, because she deserves it. You want to put her in a tower, so that the bad things in this world could never hurt her. You wish she wasn't as smart as she was, at some times, so that she wouldn't want to be an Auror, like she does. Thinking of that, you envision yourself saving her from the clutches of Death Eaters, you imagine her soft lips meeting yours in thanks, imagine that one kiss changing her whole perspective of love. But she's more than a damsel in distress, more than something that needs to be won or saved. She's strong, independent, beautiful, intelligent, everything that could ever be, rolled into one perfect person. She deserves the world, and you know you can't give it to her.

So you understand why she chose him. You know it makes more sense, and you know that he'll be better for her in the long run. Still, you can't help but to be a little bitter. He always wins. And to him, she was nothing but a prize. Yes, your life was a living hell that year.

So you go out with the sluts, the tramps, the whores. The ones who use you for sex, popularity, one more notch on the bedpost. They're mindless relationships, attractive bimbos with no brains and no real feelings. You tell yourself that every one of them means something special to you, but your lying through your teeth. You continue with them, however, to get her off your mind.

You watch them all year long, holding hands, kissing, touching. You know, somehow, on the day they've first had sex, and you want to scream, to yell, to shout and to break things, and to kill him because she's too good for that. But you hold it in and congratulate him.

Two months later, you go engagement ring shopping with him, and you want to shoot yourself for agreeing to it. For him pressing every diamond up into your face, asking what you thought she'd like. You wanted to yell at him, to say that he should know everything about her, that he should know what kind of diamond she'd like, what shape, what carat, what color, what style. He should know, because she chose him. You tell yourself that you would know if you were him, and smirk at the very thought.

Two weeks after that, you sat across the room in the restaurant, witnessing the smile on her face as he pulled the box from his pocket and got down on one knee. Disgusted, you'd turned away. You didn't have to look to know exactly what she'd say.

Eight months later, you stand by his side as she walks down the aisle, a vision in white, toward him. You watch him take her hand, look into her eyes, and whisper "I love you" into her ear. You saw her say it back, and a little piece of your heart withered and died inside an empty chest.

She dances with you at the reception, thanks you the whole time for your help in the planning, says that with your aid, the day was truly perfect. All you wanted was for her to be quiet, so you could enjoy the feeling of holding her, but couldn't bear to tell her to stop talking. And eventually, all songs have to end. She kisses your cheek then, and he stole back his bride. You look after her, cup the side of your face, and walk away, grinning like an idiot.

A year and a half later, you enter the hospital room, and you're greeted with a question you can't help but agree to. You look down at the face of your new godchild, cradled in her arms, and almost cry when the boy opened his eyes, and you were faced with a reflection of those beautiful orbs that resided in the face of the woman holding him. You know that it wasn't her idea to name you godfather, but she agreed to it. She'd trusted you with the life of her first-born son, and that meant the world to you.

A little more than a year later, you stand on her grave, tears running down your face, freezing in the cold wind, and regret all the times you could have told her how you truly felt.

A/N: So this just kind of popped up in my head one day. Took me about an hour to write in my journal, and I revised and added bits and pieces as I typed it, so its evolved a little, but I think its one of my best.

I wrote it with Sirius in mind, but you can make it any Marauder. It makes the most sense for it to be Sirius, because he was James's best man.. But you can make it whoever, I'm not specific.


End file.
